How does life manage to be so beautifully tragic,

So excitingly monotonous,

So perfectly imperfect?

Will felt as if he were going in a downward spiral. He hadn't written anything for his own enjoyment since before "Starstruck." It felt as though all the motivation had been drained from his body, like his inspiration had been siphoned and dispersed into the empty void of outer space.

School was vanilla and bland, like it usually was; except now, Will didn't even have his stupid friends to make him forget about unimportant assignments, nor did he have little texts to send to or receive from Indie to break up the slow monotony of each day. His current situation with Indie quickly made one simple week feel like a lifetime.

At lunch, Will managed to find a table in the corner that he could sit at by himself. Sure, the nerds set up and tore down DnD just one table over every single day without fail—sometimes they rolled their twenty-sided die into Will's food, which wasn't exactly ideal—but that was better than being completely alone, Will decided. He was also quite thankful that the jocks didn't frequent that particular corner.

"Hey, Will," Tyrone, one of the DnD-ers acknowledged him as he silently debated whether or not he should eat his chicken wrap. "You wanna join us? You can create your character!"

Tyrone's table all turned toward Will expectantly. Will gave them all a half-smile.

"No thanks, Tyrone." Will replied. "But I'll watch."

"Alright, your loss," Patience, the girl with purple glasses and a ginger afro, shrugged. "Let's just get started, I'm ready!"

"Alright, alright," Tyrone nodded.

Will tuned them out as they started talking in terms he didn't understand. He picked at his mandarin oranges as a form of distraction from his own thoughts, which were very loud now that he had practically nothing to take his mind off of everything.

To Will's surprise, someone set their tray down in front of him and sat down. He was slightly relieved to see Edward's face before him, but he was still nervous to converse with him after everything that had happened between their friend group.

Eddie adjusted his square glasses, glancing down at Will's practically untouched food. "Are you fasting?"

Will stiffened his back. That was not how he expected their conversation would start.

"Um... no. Just depressed."

Eddie pursed his lips. "Do you... wanna talk about anything?"

Will sighed, hiding his head in his hands. "I do, Eddie, but I don't know..."

Eddie held up a hand. "Speak, young Padawan."

Will took a pity bite of his wrap for Eddie's sake. To his surprise, it wasn't half bad. He swallowed as he tried to get his disconnected thoughts in order.

"Well, first off... Did you read my notebook, or was it just the other guys?" Will questioned, searching for answers in Eddie's hazel eyes.

Eddie pressed his lips into a thin line. "James saw it on the seat and grabbed it... I think he said something along the lines of, 'look, guys, it's Will's book!'" He paused for a moment. "Then he and Forrest laughed. I told James he shouldn't look in it, but he shrugged. 'It's no big deal. I wanna know what juicy secrets are in here.'"

Will listened attentively. He could imagine it all so clearly: James and Forrest huddled together, laughing like the idiotic teenage boys they were at Will's entire life written down on paper. His heartbeat quickened in pace.

"Do you know what he read? Did he read them out loud? What happened?" Will asked, his voice breaking.

Eddie gave Will a sympathetic look. "Woah, woah, slow down, Willy." He laughed nervously. "It's really interesting what happened next. James read them to himself, but his smile faded after he read through a few of them. Forrest and I were confused for a second, but then I realized: he was looking to make fun of your poems. He wasn't expecting them to be good. Then he wasn't sure what to say, and his cheeks burned red, and he regretted picking it up in the first place." Eddie explained.

Will was flabbergasted. "There's no way James Platt regretted an attempt at making fun of someone. Do you even know who we're talking about right now?"

"I know, Will," Eddie nodded. "But I believe he referred back to them as 'amazing.'" He shrugged. "Do with that what you will, I guess."

Will furrowed his brows. There was no way that was what happened—he knew James too well. He couldn't have actually appreciated an art form. That idea was completely foreign to him and, most likely, the rest of his cronies on the football team.

"You're lying, Eddie. There's no way..."

Eddie held his hands up in surrender. "William, I would never tell you anything but the truth."

"I can't forgive him." Will mumbled. "He's given me too many snide remarks and annoying nicknames to make me believe he can actually change."

"I didn't tell you that story to make you feel bad for him," Eddie shrugged, "I just wanted to clarify what actually happened. I'm not here to force you to restore any bonds, Will. I just wanted to check on you."

"Yeah, because neither of the other guys would," Will sighed.

"They probably feel bad about the whole thing too, Will." Eddie replied. "I don't think they're that heartless. Sure, they're both idiots, one more than the other, but they must've stayed in the Unorthodox Underdogs for some reason. They had to find some enjoyment in our company."

Will scratched the back of his neck. "Or they had two perfect targets for their insults." He mumbled. He shook his head, then looked back at Eddie. "Never mind. You're probably right. I'm just... a little bitter right now. That's all."

Eddie tilted his head. "Is there more?"

Will felt a pain prick his chest. His family were the only ones that knew about him and Indie's situation. He felt so far away from the people he once called his friends.

"Oh, uh..." Will started, trying to ignore the lump in his throat and the tears ready to fall from his eyes. "It's just... Indie and I. We're not seeing each other anymore." Will exhaled sharply. "It's really messing me up right now."

Eddie's face morphed from confusion to sadness. "Oh, Will... I'm sorry." He shook his head slowly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Well, I won't leave you in the dark, I guess." Will sighed. "The basis is we weren't fully honest with one another about certain things... Some things were more important than others. I guess we were both struggling, but we didn't want to admit it."

Eddie nodded carefully. "Alright," he replied.

"It really sucks, because since we stopped seeing each other... stopped talking, and whatnot... I haven't really written much of anything. I don't know what's happened to me. I was completely fine writing things before I'd met her, but now that I know her and I know she's gone..." A small tear fell from Will's eye without his permission.

"She was your muse," Eddie examined.

Will looked at Eddie, his eyes glossy, nodding slowly. "She was. She is," he replied softly. "It was a timing thing, I think. And I know it's probably not forever, but a part of me refuses to believe that. Because, like... what if it is? What if I can never write again? What if I can never see her again? Hear her laugh?" He spiraled into the world's quietest rant. "But, at the same time, I just want her to be happy. And... if that means I can't be with her, then..."

Will couldn't finish his sentence. A few more stray tears dribbled from his eyes. Eddie placed a comforting hand on Will's arm from across the table.

"It's alright, buddy." Eddie said. "Everything will work out. You'll see."

Will wished he could believe his friend.

The bell rang, indicating everyone in the cafeteria to stampede out the door like elephants. Will dabbed his eyes with the back of his hand, hoping his glasses would conceal his reddened eyes.

Eddie walked with Will. They stuck behind for a moment to avoid getting caught up in the crowd.

"We could get together and play video games at my house tonight, if you wanted. Just the two of us." Eddie offered as they exited the cafeteria. "Just like old times, you know?"

"Thanks, Eddie," Will smiled weakly, "but I hate video games."

~ * ~

Will hid in his room. He didn't bother to put his clothes away or clean up the loose tissues that were scattered across his floor. He laid on his bed and stared up at his ceiling, wishing it would transform into a sky full of stars. He imagined Indie laying beside him, looking up at the constellations and chatting about their favorite planets; back when all was right in their little slice of universe.

Will's family was surprisingly good at leaving him alone during his difficult time, but it was this evening in particular that he heard his door slowly creak open.

"Go away," Will groaned, crumpling up another tissue in his hand and tossing it aside. He automatically assumed that the intruder was Alice, looking to pester him about winning Indie's heart back or going for a late-night run to the gas station for a "little treat."

He was not expecting, however, his dad to be standing on the other side.

Will sat up and reassembled his hair as best he could as his dad stood in the doorway of his bedroom.

Clyde awkwardly tapped on the doorframe in a very dad-like fashion. He cleared his throat. "Could I... talk to you for a minute?"

Will swallowed. "Um... sure." He replied.

Clyde gestured to Will's bed. "May I come in and sit?"

Will merely nodded. He watched attentively as his father sat on the edge of his bed, looking more awkward and aware of himself than normal. He didn't look Will in the eyes; he smoothed his hands over his jeans. He cleared his throat once again.

Will realized that he smelled no trace of alcohol, nor cigar smoke. He wondered what had brought about such a rare occurrence.

"Son," Clyde began, meeting Will's gaze. "I am... so, so sorry."

Will's expression remained blank. He blinked. Was he hallucinating due to the hours he'd just spend crying?

"W-what?" Was all Will managed to say.

Clyde nodded slowly. "I'm sorry." He reassured Will.

Will couldn't believe his ears. "Did... mom make you..."

Clyde looked down, shaking his head. "No, no... I've been thinking about this conversation for a while now."

Will nodded. "Ok."

"I know you and Alice have heard stories about me... and a lot of them are true, unfortunately... but you guys didn't have any context to go with them." He stared at Will's carpeted floor. "You already know the college-partying bit, of course. But what you didn't know was that my father was a stickler. He wanted straight A's, college, the whole nine yards." His eyes became suddenly glassy. "My siblings and I... watched him physically abuse our mother when he got drunk." He added, a tear slipping from his eye. "And all I could think was, 'what drives a man to become so hurt... so manipulative and mean?"

Will's heart sank. He couldn't form a word; all he could do was listen.

It took Clyde a moment to recompose his thoughts. "After forcing me into a college that I knew I couldn't keep up with, I tried my hardest to stay focused; be sharp and attentive, just like my father had always taught me." He let out a sigh. "I got terrible grades. School just... wasn't my strong suit. My father heard about my failings and screamed at me over the phone. He always knew I wasn't cut out for school... I always swore he was delighted in watching me fail." He shook his head. "It was the second week of my Sophomore year. That's when I learned my mother had passed away."

Will bit his lip. He knew that his grandmother had died before he was born, but he had no idea about his grandfather's backstory. He'd always been nice to Will and Alice.

Clyde fought the tears away as he tried to continue. "It was horrible. I didn't know what to do with myself. All I could think to do was blame my father. I thought that he must've driven my mother into a heart attack." He sighed, wiping his tear-covered face. "After the funeral and everything, I was a mess. My mother was the only one who'd stuck up for me, and now I was stuck in this world with the man who seemed to hate my existence. After that, I met your mother, but it's also when I tried alcohol for the first time. Betty, God love her... she was such a saint. She loved me when I despised myself. She told me I shouldn't drink and I shouldn't party, and that I should try to get back up on my feet... but it was too late. My mother had left a void that no amount of coaxing—or drinking, for that matter—could fill."

Will swallowed the lump in his throat. He had never seen his father gripped by emotions quite like this.

"Of course, I dropped out of college. Betty, for whatever reason, remained by my side through it all. It was like... she saw something in me that I was too blind to see myself. She helped me get a job in the area... Russel's Mechanics, where I'm about to celebrate my 28th year. That job helped me get an apartment near the college. We visited one another as often as we could. Of course, that led to the proposal, the wedding, giving birth to you... all that mushy stuff."

"Right." Will chuckled.

"I had always promised myself that I would be nothing like my father... I told myself I'd never physically hurt anyone I loved, get plastered, or become a manipulative asshole. Of course, I've never laid a finger out of place on your mother or either of you kids, but... look at the man I've become otherwise. Without even fully realizing it, I've become almost an exact replica of my father." He shook his head and closed his eyes somberly. "And now... I might lose Betty, the one person who believed in me when no one else did." His voice broke. "I wanted you and Alice to succeed so badly, just to make up for my own failures. I wanted you two to become everything I couldn't... I just didn't realize at the time that you already had."

Clyde and Will looked at one another with their matching blue eyes. "You and Alice are heads above where I was at your age. You're witty, smart, talented..."

Will felt tears begin to envelop his eyes.

"And Will," Clyde added. "I'm going to support your decisions about your future. You'd do great in college, sure, but you'd also be great in the workforce or a trade." Clyde smiled at his son. "But I do know one thing for sure: that writing of yours is going to change the world."

Will's body began to shake as tears began streaming down his face. Clyde scooted closer to wrap Will in a hug, which only made matters worse for Will's tear ducts. Clyde gently patted his son on the back. Will squoze his dad as hard as he could.

"I love you, Will." Clyde whispered.

Will sniffled, a rocket of snot shooting from his nose onto his dad's flannel. "I love you too, dad."

This time, Will knew that his dad meant what he said. It wasn't prompted by Betty, it wasn't some ploy to make Will feel bad for him; it was actual, legitimate love and understanding between a father and his son.

Their hug ended, as most hugs do, but the tear stains and soft smiles remained on Will and Clyde's faces. Clyde stood up.

"Now I'm going to go have a similar conversation with your sister," Clyde explained as he walked towards the door. "And then... your mother."

Will chuckled, putting a tissue to his nose. "Have fun with that," Will replied. "She's more emotional than me."

Clyde chuckled, stopping at Will's doorway, still facing him. "Oh, Will?"

"Hm?"

"One more thing," Clyde added. "If you want that girl as much as you claim to... don't be so quick to give up on her." He nodded definitively. "Capiche?"

Will blinked rapidly, his heart rate beginning to increase. A small smile crept up on his lips. "Capiche."